The Heave

The walkway is losing the fight.

It’s buckling upward in slow motion,

the slabs of concrete tilting

like tectonic plates in a driveway.

I reached down to grab the stalk

that’s doing the heavy lifting,

but the crabgrass has edges like a serrated knife.

It left a thin, red smile across my palm.

When I finally got a grip and pulled,

the root came up dripping with dirt—

that sickly, pale white of something

that’s been living in the dark,

patient enough to break a house.